


Witch of the Wilds

by Mr Dixonfusch (GohanRoxas)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Warden!Jessica, Witch!Mica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 16:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GohanRoxas/pseuds/Mr%20Dixonfusch
Summary: The stories say the Witch of the Wilds will turn you into a toad...that she will boil you alive with a click of the finger...that she is actually a giant, man-eating feline creature.The stories say nothing of her true nature.





	Witch of the Wilds

**Author's Note:**

> I...I don't even know where this idea came from. Maybe because both Mica and Jess have cosplayed Morrigan? I dunno.
> 
> PS. I'm pretty sure I use some wrong terminology in here but I don't care.

Some were calling it a new Blight. Local legends told of Herewyrd, the Mad King, had arisen from the Deep Roads as an Archdemon, leading the darkspawn against the peaceful living once more.

Superstitious nonsense, she told herself. The Archdemon from the Fifth Blight was barely cold, having been slain by the Hero of Ferelden not even a decade prior. It was impossible for another to have come to the surface for a Blight so quickly.

Particularly if the tales were true, and the child of Flemeth had the soul of the Archdemon contained within a child of her own.

She believed that tale more than that of the Mad King. After all, such a feat was sure to make itself known among her fellow witches.

The sounds of steel on steel, grunts of effort and pain, flesh torn asunder, broke through her musings. Conflict, in her woods? Damned peasants, likely going on a fool’s errand and chasing after bandits far better equipped for battle than they. Still, she claimed this land as her own, as per the ancient rights of claim, and she had to know what had happened.

Her eyes became slits as she squinted, focusing her powers before as her body seemed to shimmer, her human form being replaced with that of a lithe, black-furred, large-bodied cat. Her books called this creature a panther. The peasants called it Blacktooth, and they feared it. As well they should.

* * *

 

When she arrived at the source of the sounds and smells, she knew immediately it was not peasants and bandits. The bodies she found were of dwarves...and darkspawn. Likely both from a nearby entrance to a newly-rediscovered dwarven thaig.

Her panther form shuffled over to one long-dead dwarf, sniffing at it with her cold nose. The smells of blood, ichor and lyrium filled her nostrils; that coupled with a mark burned into the leather armour spoke volumes. These dwarves were Carta.

There was nothing special about the darkspawn - their scent of blood and the taint was obvious from even far away...but one thing did catch her eye.

He seemed young, hardly more than a boy, yet he wore the stained garb and armour of a Grey Warden; likely stolen off the corpse of its original owner. The hood of his blood-spattered cloak was up, obscuring his face from view - and likely hiding his fear. The boy was clutching a battered longsword awkwardly, like he knew not how to use it.

And the blade was pointed squarely at her.

“Stay back!” the boy cried, attempting bravado despite a quivering, effeminate voice. “Back, beast! I don't want to use this!”

Inwardly, she sighed, rather annoyed by the display. It wasn't anything “Blacktooth” hadn’t heard before; if the boy was aiming for brave, he instead found pathetic.

Her form shimmered again as she returned to “normal”, the change causing the boy to rise to his feet in some facsimile of a fighting stance...though his grip on the sword seemed to loosen upon seeing the large feline transform into a young, dark-skinned beauty in a loose-fitting cloak that left little to the imagination of a boy his age.

She wandered around the small grove, ostensibly searching the area for something. “Where is he?”

“Wh-where’s who?”

“The Grey Warden you stole the armour and clothing from. He must be here somewhere.”

The boy was indignant, clearly, as he jabbed the sword at the open air. “These belong to me!”

She ignored the proclamation. “I’d imagine that's his sword you have also. Or did you take it from the corpse of one of these dwarves?”

“I-I don't have to explain myself to a witch!” he blustered.

Her eyes widened and her lips curled in a smirk.

“You...you're her, aren't you? The Witch of the Wilds the townsfolk warned us about.”

“Witch of the Wilds, hm?” She laughed. “A title the superstitious give to the monsters in their children’s dreams.” She looked him in the eye. “Oh, do put down that sword, I am no danger to you. And your bravado means nothing to me regardless.”

The boy relaxed, but did not drop the blade, simply holding it to his side. “Who are you?”

The witch crossed her arms and pursed her lips, mimicking thought. “I could tell you...but perhaps you should tell me your name first? Then, if I am satisfied, I shall tell you mine.”

Finally, the would-be Warden stabbed the longsword into the ground - oddly rather professionally - before lifting his hands and lowering his hood…

And even the witch had to take a step back.

Beneath the hood lay shoulder-length, pale blonde hair, coupled with a clearly feminine face. This boy was no boy; it was a grown woman.

Curiouser and curiouser indeed.

“My name...my name is Jessica.”

She had to laugh shortly, applauding. “Jessica indeed. I will admit, ‘tis a pleasant surprise that you're no boy, but a woman full-grown.” She bowed rather mockingly. “You may call me Mica.”

“Mica, the Witch of--Ah!” Jessica's words were suddenly cut off as she fell to her knees, clutching her left arm tightly. Only now did Mica see the tear in the blue padded Warden jerkin, clearly made by a blade; only now did she see the blood seeping through the other woman’s fingers.

The witch immediately moved, not out of any concern, but of professionalism. “So you did fight, and you are wounded.” She forced Jessica's bloodied hand away from the wound as she inspected it. Luckily, no sign of the blackened taint at the wound. She breathed easy. “A Carta blade did this, not one of the darkspawn.” She rose and tore off part of the cloak of a dwarven corpse, wrapping and tying it around the wound in a rudimentary bandage. “Come, my home is not far. This wound must be treated.”

“But I--” Jessica protested.

“But nothing, girl,” Mica cut her off. “You are in my Wilds and you will do as I say. Just this once.”

The blonde went limp and simply nodded.

* * *

 

How inconvenient. Not only did she guess wrong about the survivor of the melee, but said survivor was wounded. Maker be damned for this.

As it was, Mica was slaving over her mortar and pestle, grinding elfroot and deep mushrooms into a rudimentary healing poultice, along with a few drops of oil distilled from fish in a nearby brook.

Of course, this led to another, very different problem. A poultice is applied directly to the skin, there can be no obstruction to it. A bandage can be applied over it, but it cannot be placed onto a cut beneath a jerkin, for example. And considering Jessica's obvious wariness to trust someone widely called a Witch, requesting the removal of garments seemed unlikely.

Mica sighed in frustration, grabbing a roll of clean bandages and the bowl of her poultice before heading into her bedroom, now confiscated as a sickbed for a would-be Warden.

Before she could even utter the dreaded request, she was surprised to find that Jessica had already removed the armour and jerkin, now sitting on the bed in only her cloth trousers. The bleeding of the long, horizontal gash of a wound had slowed to a crawl, but her entire body was covered in white scar tissue, evidence of many a wound in her brief time in the sun.

Another thing that the shirtless status of the blonde made obvious, however, was Mica’s foolishness in ever believing she was a pubescent boy. Her chest was fully formed, rounded and clearly feminine, putting the witch’s own to shame. Though it was for but a moment, it was impossible for her to avoid staring for that singular moment.

“It seems you were speaking true, Jessica, when you said the garb of the Warden was your own,” Mica muttered, putting down the bowl and picking up a rag from a nearby washtub, wringing it out before lightly cleaning the wound, an action that involuntarily caused Jessica to flinch and hiss in pain. “These scars are not of a common thief.”

“Was it so hard to believe I am a Warden?” the blonde chuckled wryly.

“Considering that you held a sword like a rank amateur? Yes.”

She laughed. “To be fair, my experience lies in daggers and bows.”

“Ah, the roguish type?”

“Thus not far from your suggestion after all.”

Mica gave her a minute smile as she discarded the rag before picking up the bowl and gently dabbing poultice onto the wound. She noticed Jessica biting her lip, likely at the cold of the poultice rather than anything else...but it macabrely piqued her interest. “So...what do you do when you're not staying the darkspawn hordes?”

Jessica chuckled softly. “I gather intelligence for the Wardens, usually. Seeking out potential recruits on the behalf of the Warden-Commander.”

Mica rolled her eyes as she dipped her hands in water before drying them briefly, hands then moving to a clean bandage. “That is the basics of what I asked, yes, but my meaning was intended to be thus: with whom do you usually keep company? Men or women?”

The Warden arched an eyebrow quizzically. “Why do you ask?”

“Humour me.”

Jessica's head turned straight forward and her eyes glazed over; despite her focus on the task at hand, Mica could have sworn she saw a blush touch the blonde’s cheeks. “I’ve...only kept company, as you say, once before. A young man in my village, same age as me. Not long after we learned the meaning of the phrase. It was...different.”

Mica laughed softly, hands lowering from tying off the bandage. “So in answer to my question, you have felt neither the touch of a man nor a woman, only a boy.”

The blonde spluttered. “Wh-why do you even care?”

“Because…” The witch looked her in the eye and began tracing a single, long scar between Jessica's ample breasts, causing the Warden to shiver reflexively. “Though it may sound like a line from a poorly written dwarven romance novel, I’ve found that the best way to treat someone for lingering pain...is to keep their mind off of it.” With such scandalous words coming from her, Mica did not wait for a response from the red-faced Warden, instead leaning forwards and capturing the blonde’s lips with her own.

Jessica flinched, but did not recoil...until she relented, pushing herself gently against the witch’s own body to reciprocate the kiss. Clearly she was not as much an amateur with kissing as she was with a sword or “keeping company”. Mica let out an involuntary moan as their kiss deepened, responding to the sudden display of force by pushing the blonde down onto the bed and taking hold of both of her breasts, squeezing firmly.

Jessica moaned out loud, the sound quickly becoming unburdened when the witch straddled her waist and sat up, focusing on the soft mounds.

“Allow me to demonstrate the...magic of a woman’s touch,” Mica smiled, leaning down and replacing one hand with her mouth, wrapping her lips over a hardening nipple and toying with it.

“Ahh…” Jessica gasped, her chest heaving with every breath. She was suddenly powerless against the witch’s antics and touch...and she adored the feeling.

Eventually, Mica rose off of the blonde’s lap and gently pulled her into a sitting position, moving her to the edge of the bed. Smiling rather wickedly, she leaned in and kissed her hungrily, hand sliding down the curvaceous form and reaching her trousers; it took no time at all for the dexterous hand to slip beneath both said trousers and the smallclothes beneath, fingers beginning to rub at Jessica's core.

It had been so long since even she herself had touched there that she could not hold back the sharp cry of pleasure at the intimate touch. It was an odd mix of forbidden and necessary; this was a Witch of the Wilds! And yet...Jessica found herself looking at Mica as a beautiful woman first, a Witch second.

“Such pretty noises…” Mica purred. “I think perhaps I’ll keep you as my own, Warden. A gift to myself to do with as I see fit.” As she spoke, two of her fingers moved inside Jessica, moving gingerly and pushing for a pleasure centre.

The words, combined with a touch greater than anything she had experienced up to now, were sending the blonde spiralling out of control, as she took hold of Mica’s head and kissed her desperately, even as her hips began to roll with the witch’s hand. Her voice was singing a beautiful song of arousal, heat and abnormal lust, her chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. All semblance of resistance to this was long gone, as was any feelings of pain. All that was in this moment was the two of them, entangled in desire most primal.

Eventually she could hold out no longer. With a hoarse, shuddering breath, Jessica fell over the edge, evidence of her arousal coating Mica’s fingers and hand. She moaned through a hungry kiss with the witch, hand holding a fistful of dark hair.

Once she had felt the Warden’s twitching slow to a halt, Mica pulled away and chuckled, provocatively licking her fingers. “Impressive, all things considered…”

Before any other words could be uttered, she felt a warm body pinning her to the bed. Jessica has a smile on her face that spoke volumes, but the flush of her cheeks and the heaving of her chest did also. “Now it’s my turn to enjoy you.”

Surprise turned to interest, which quickly gave way to eagerness. “Then you’d best begin before I lose interest.”

The Warden laughed and launched herself onto the witch, eager for a modicum of lust-filled retribution.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, here's a fun idea. If you wanna see what happened next, leave a comment saying so and I might just add a short second chapter.


End file.
